


so, for once in my life

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers for Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2102049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian Jones, Emma Swan, and the rocky road to a relationship. Post 3x22, speculation for Season 4.  My CS Secret Survivor gift for Geekalogian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so, for once in my life

**Author's Note:**

> For geekalogian, who wanted domesticity and Emma and Killian off an adventure/being an amazing team: I hope this suffices. Much thanks to artielu and ohmyohpioneer who looked it over. Inspired by the Smiths song ‘Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want’ and The National song ‘I Need My Girl.

 

**so, for once in my life**

There is something about Emma that feels precious and ephemeral to him; she is far too valuable to far too many people, and the very thought of her even possibly belonging to him is foreign and impossible. He watches as she deftly navigates between her family and the people of the town, being daughter and mother and Savior and sheriff all at once, and he wonders how he could possibly dare to claim her as his as well.

The dream of her in his arms, underneath him and around him, is a heady thought, and it distracts him from his careful observation, especially when she smiles at Leroy, reassuring him that his engine will definitely unfreeze eventually. Thinking of Emma in such a way makes him feel more than a bit presumptuous but it’s startlingly easy to think of her as _his_ (he wants her to be so very badly, especially after last night). And yet, she is a princess, and he is a pirate, and even if Storybrooke reduces the discrepancy between their different titles to ancillary matters, she is worth more than him.

At least, as he is right now.

“Hey,” Emma says, finally finished with her duties. “You okay?” Her hands are sliding into her back pockets, her head is tilted to the side, and he wants to do nothing more than to close the distance between the two of them and kiss her senseless.

He rejects his baser impulses and just smiles, nods. “Fine, Swan, though it seems that the dwarves are not,” he points out. Emma sighs, her whole body involved in the exhalation, and he can’t help but be just a little amused at her frustration because the cause of it is, from what he can tell, more than slightly ridiculous (since when did something freezing cause such a commotion?).

“Yeah, well, you would be too if your engine was frozen,” she tells him, and he frowns.

“Engine?” he asks, and Emma sighs again.

“Come with me and I’ll show you,” she promises him.  

Her hand brushes against the left arm of his jacket as they walk, and he is almost grateful that he can’t reach out and hold her, because he’s not sure that he would let go.

…

Killian does not sleep through the night (a habit he developed early on in the navy, and which he never broke, especially when he became captain, especially when he was in Neverland). He wakes every few hours, half-expecting to feel the rocking of his ship and the hard mattress of his bunk beneath him, but that is never the case.

Instead, he is in Storybrooke, and his ship is no longer in his possession. Instead, he is possessed by a woman who resides across a narrow hallway from him, behind not one but two closed doors (he wonders if Emma knows that she owns him, body and soul).

Sometimes he can fall back to sleep easily, only to wake once more before dawn. Sometimes it takes longer - a trip to the washroom for water, time spent staring out the window, watching the sky change color.   Sometimes he doesn’t fall back to sleep at all, distracted by the knowledge that Emma is so close and yet still so far.

…

“Want to see something?” Emma asks him from across the table at Granny’s, and Killian merely raises an eyebrow.

“I’ve come to be a bit apprehensive when you utter that phrase, love,” he tells her, watching as her smile grows wider and she is so beautiful when she’s happy that his heart skips a beat.

“I promise I won’t take your hook this time,” Emma says, hand over her heart, struggling to look solemn over her giddiness. She glances down at his empty breakfast plate and then back up at him. “Are you ready?”

Killian nods, and with a wave of her hand, his plate is full of bacon and eggs again.   She slams her palm down against the tabletop when he stares at it, mouth agape, then at her, and he’s so proud of her that he can’t help but grin (that is, until she steals a piece of bacon and bites into it with a crunch, and yet he can’t find it in him to be angry with her).

“Bloody brilliant,” he tells her and she just swells with pride in her magic and that makes her only more beautiful, this woman he loves

“It’s really much easier than it looks,” she says, explaining to him about how it’s only for food, and then it’s only a known quantity that can be reproduced, but carefully – rules about magic that Regina must have taught her, rules that go over his head because he’s so busy watching her excitement and his heart swells with love for her.

“You’re amazing,” he reminds her and she ducks her head, a blush coming to her cheeks. There are no falsehoods in his words – her magic is amazing, and as her mastery grows, so does her pride, and he loves watching her take ownership of herself. There is no hesitation, no ulterior motive in his desire to support her and he knows that she needs it, this unconditional devotion which he knows he will never cease to have when it comes to her.

Judging from the way that Emma’s looking at him right now (like she looked at him before she kissed him), she seems inclined to agree.

Ruby chooses that moment to refill their beverages, frowning at Killian’s full plate of food, but saying nothing, and he shares an amused look with Emma (and later, behind Granny’s, he kisses her, tasting the syrup from her pancakes that lingers on her lips, stealing a moment before the next catastrophe).

…

It’s different, this time around, then it was with Milah, and Killian thinks about it more than he probably should, especially as he falls asleep.

He can’t help it – can’t help comparing this new thing with Emma to whatever he had with Milah, because every time he thinks he can anticipate what will happen, it doesn’t, and when he expects it not to happen, well…it does.

(Everything with Milah is a hazy memory, a story that he thinks he heard long ago – something so far removed from his life that it is unrecognizable at times. The Milah that he remembers is more of a symbol than a person: a symbol of loss, a symbol of anger, a symbol of rage, a symbol of vengeance.   Everything with Emma is so real and so sharp that it takes him a moment to remember that it’s possible to feel something this intensely – like the breath before you realize you’ve burned yourself after touching something that is hot.

He has been too numb for too long.)

…

Her fingers are in the hair at the nape of his neck and her mouth moves against him carefully, deliberately. There is no one around but the two of them, and he is overwhelmed by her, lost in the feel of her, the whisper of fabric as his hand brushes against her shirt, the way that her breath catches when his fingers touch bare skin.

It has been several days since the dwarves reported sudden patches of ice and frozen engines (Killian is learning to appreciate the mechanical objects of this realm, which makes everything incredibly efficient) and that was prior to being chased by a giant ice monster. Its master, a frightened young queen named Elsa, had been very sorry, and with Emma’s help had admitted that she was looking for her sister.

“After the first curse broke,” Emma told him as they walked to the station, “people came looking for their families. Since some people were traveling in other parts of the forest when Regina’s curse hit – “

“- not all of them were brought here,” Killian finishes with a nod. “So I assume you have a list of those persons who are being sought by their kin, then?”

“We do, with detailed descriptions,” Emma says. “Let’s go see if this missing princess is in Storybrooke.”

That itself has proven to be a chore, as the citizens of Storybrooke have listed all their known relatives as missing, most of which are still in the Enchanted Forest, and none of them match the description of the princess.

Eventually, Emma sighs and he looks up, catching a glimpse in her eyes of something dark and powerful and just slightly mischievous, and that glimpse has put them in this current predicament, where Emma is in her lap, arms around his neck, lips against his own. He cannot find it in him to question nor complain, for he will not deny her anything, still shocked that she wants him as badly as he wants her.

“What about the queen?” he asks, pressing a kiss below her ear (she shivers delightfully and he makes a note of that specific location so that he may return to it in the future).

“We’ve got time.” And Emma threads her fingers into his hair and pulls him back towards her, and he doesn’t quite have the desire to protest anymore.

The door to the sheriff’s office slams, and they break apart, disheveled and flustered, breathing heavy. There are footsteps and Emma slips off him, wobbling a little, running her fingers through his hair. Killian remains seated, taking a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to calm his unsteady heartbeat, to compose himself in case her parents are the ones interrupting them (he does not think the Charmings know of their dalliances, and he will not say anything unless she does first).

“Hello?” an unfamiliar male voice calls out, and Killian looks at Emma. Her mouth is red and bruised from his kisses, her hair is wild, and licks her lips before looking away from him, straightening her jacket and leaning against the desk. He can’t stop watching her, because she is a sight to behold in her current state and he loves that it is because of _him_ , because of whatever _they_ are.

“Hi – how can we help you?” Emma asks the newcomer – a man with reddish hair and an expression of embarrassment on his face – and Killian tries not to look as excited as he feels about Emma saying _we_.

“I’m so sorry, I hate to bother you,” he says, hands up in front of him, “but I’m here to report a missing person.”

Emma looks over at Killian with raised eyebrows, as if to say _another?_ and he can’t help but shake his head. This must be more than a coincidence.

His name is Hans, and he claims to be a prince from the Southern Isles, and his fiancée, a girl named Anna, has gone missing. He gives a thorough description, blinking back tears, and Emma frowns as she writes it down. Killian can’t blame her – the description is identical to the one given by Elsa earlier.

Emma promises to be in touch before sending the man with information to contact her if he hears anything. When the door of the station closes behind him, she puts the pad of paper she was holding on the desk and crosses her arms over her chest. She walks over to where he is, sits down on the desk itself (her leg brushes against his and every moment sends a jolt right through him and he wants to lock the door to the station and pick up exactly where they left off).  

“Two people looking for the same princess,” Emma says with a worried look on her face. It’s a coincidence, and a shocking one that that, but the Enchanted Forest is only so big, and Elsa had mentioned something about her sister’s wedding. “What did you think of that guy?”

“He was a bit odd,” he admits, thinking about the tears that formed in the corner of the man’s eyes, the way that he spoke about his betrothed. Everything about the man’s behavior was a bit strange, and even his plea for help was less of a plea and more like a dog begging for scraps – an unfavorable comparison in Killian’s mind.

“That’s what I thought,” she says. “Something about his story didn’t add up.”

“You think he’s not actually looking for his betrothed?” he asks, and Emma shakes her head.

“No, I believe that she’s his fiancée, and I believe that he’s looking for her…I just can’t figure out what’s up otherwise,” Emma admits. “Like…just something off about him.”

Killian nods seriously – he trusts Emma’s superpower. “If you feel something is off, Emma, then I trust you,” he tells her. “You’ve never been wrong.”

“I guess so,” Emma says, looking down at where their legs touch and he thinks about reaching up for her, pulling her back down into his lap (her lips are still a bit pink, and very tempting). Just as he is about to act, her phone rings and she groans as she pushes off the desk to go retrieve it across the room.

It is her mother, asking that she stop by, and Emma sighs. She gives him a sympathetic look as they leave the station and head towards her parents place, and if the Charmings mind that he’s accompanied Emma, they don’t say anything about it which is no small blessing considering the nature of Emma’s parents.

It’s only later, when they part for the day, that he realizes he has no idea what he is doing when it comes to Emma. He follows her around like a lost puppy, and his self-respect as a pirate captain makes him question his decision to do such (but she is more precious to him than any jewel, and a pirate guards his treasure closely). He doesn’t think about the future much, but between watching the Charmings and their happy little family and thinking of this Hans fellow and his lost love, Killian can’t help but wonder just what he has to do to make Emma his in any sense of the word.

He does not wish to share her, pirate that he is, even if he must.

…

He does not remember much about courting Milah – it’s as simple as the fact that one day she was not in his bed, and the next day she was.   While he remembers Milah’s declaration in front of the Dark One that she fell in love with him instantly, he does not think it was the same for him; Milah was a beautiful woman, vivacious and clever and charming, and while he desired her at first, he did not love her. Coming to love Milah was like tripping over a rope on the deck one and finding himself in her arms.

Falling in love with Emma was more like accidentally stepping off a cliff and plummeting into the chasm below.

Emma is not Milah; she is not fleeing a life she doesn’t want, nor is she as easily bought as Milah was (that women loved her trinkets as much as she loved Killian).   Emma is a product of a different realm and different time, and what she needs – reassurance that he will not leave her, trust, faith in her magic, a day without chaos, her entire family around her – is harder to give her than hiding her on a boat and taking her out of port and into a new life (and that, Killian knows, makes all the difference).

…

“You should take my mom out on a date,” Henry says one day, apropos of nothing, while the two of them are walking by the harbor. Henry has sought out his company lately, and Killian has not complained (it helps ease his soul when he sees the young lad, full of fire and hope just like his father).

“A date? Take her out on a day?” Killian asks, confused, but there is much about the boy’s language that confuses him because the vernacular of this world is not the same as his own.

“A date - buy her dinner or take her for a long walk on the beach,” Henry clarifies. “It would be romantic.”

Killian eyes him warily. “And why do you think your mother would appreciate a romantic gesture on my part?”

“Because she likes you,” Henry says as if it is completely obvious. “Because she gets this look around you that she had around Walsh, but it’s different with you because it’s real.”

He is speechless at this proclamation, unsure of what to do because he’s fairly sure it’s bad form to talk about pursuing Emma with her boy, but the information has been volunteered and now he has it, so he must decide what to do with it.  

He has, for the most part, allowed Emma to set the pace, not wanting to upset the delicate balance of their relationship (she is skittish, and she will bolt, he knows that very well). And yet, if even her son can see that there is something between them, perhaps he can begin to take a more active role in pursuing his love.

“And what would you suggest be a suitable date?” Killian asks, watching Henry’s face light up.

“Well…” the boy starts, and he is almost sorry that he asked as Henry lists a variety of options, some of which seem plausible and others definitely not.

He finds her later walking down the Main Street, and she smiles when she sees him, adding a (slightly breathless) “Hi” when he approaches.

“Just the person I was hoping to see,” he says, but suddenly his tongue is too big and the ideas Henry gave him are completely forgotten. He fumbles, awkwardly scratches the back of his head, watches Emma sway towards him as he realizes just how nervous he is. He scrambles for an idea - any single one of the dozen that Henry offered him this afternoon.

“You can’t just leave me hanging, Hook,” she teases him, and he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“Right, well,” he starts, taking another step towards her, trying to hide is fear with flirtation. “I was wondering if perhaps we could have a drink together.” He looks at her, hope surging in his chest when her lips curl upwards more as her smile grows (if that’s even possible).

“A drink?” Emma asks, and Killian raises an eyebrow.

“Or if you have another way you’d prefer to spend an evening….?” he asks suggestively, noting the sharp intake of breath, the slight blush on her cheeks.   She looks down and shakes her head before looking back up at him and her eyes are so bright and she is so lovely in that moment that he is speechless.

“Yes, I would love to get a drink with you,” she tells him. “Though we’re going to have to get you a job if you’re going to be asking me out on dates.”

KIllian huffs, as if he is offended (Henry did not need to explain this to him, he knows that it is bad form to not give the lady you admire the best). “Love, I can assure you that I did not arrive in this realm empty-handed.” Emma raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t say anything, just grins wider.

“Sounds good,” Emma says, but any further conversation is interrupted by a loud scream from the direction of the pawn shop, and she sighs.

“Rain check?” she asks (yet another phrase that Killian doesn’t understand but which he assumes means that their outing is on hold for the time being) and he just nods.

“Let’s go save the day, Swan,” he tells her, hand on the small of her back, guiding her towards the commotion.   She shoots him an apologetic glance over her shoulder.

They do not get that drink, though they share a few sips from his flask later as they talk about the latest debacle (someone attempting to steal from the pawn shop). Emma sighs, drops her head back and slumps deeper into the chair in Granny’s courtyard.

“I would kill for a day off,” she tells him, handing the flask back over, and Killian takes a sip. “Just one day where I don’t have to chase after mysterious freaks.”

“You are the sheriff, love,” he points out, earning him an eye roll and a smile.

“Yeah, but I still want a life,” Emma admits, and he cannot blame her, especially since that life that she wants could involve him as well.

“Maybe it will calm down soon,” Killian offers. Emma shrugs, but she looks about as hopefully as Killian feels.

“Maybe.”

...

There is never a dull moment in Storybrooke.

There is running through woods, the constant threat of something magical and unknown, and Killian knows deep down inside that he wouldn’t have it any other way. The sea was never still so neither was he, and the constant movement - running from an ice creature or chasing down a wayward queen -makes the blood sing in his veins. Even if the denizens of the town would much prefer a quiet life, he enjoys the excitement.

Emma does too, he thinks. Her cheeks are flushed and her hands are on her hips, leaning forward just slightly to catch her breath. They’ve spent the morning following Elsa through the woods (her efforts to convince the Dark One to aid her failed miserably and she fled after freezing far too much of his shop in anger).   Now they are surrounded by trees, the still of the forest stretching between them, broken only by their heavy breathing and the jagged clouds of air that leave their mouth. They will not find Elsa today.

Emma doesn’t say anything, just laughs, loud and bright, shaking her head. She grins in amusement, and his heart swells because she is _happy_ and it makes him happy too. He can’t help but grin as he watches her tug at her coat jacket, running her fingers through her hair.

“Lunch?” she asks, as if it’s the next logical progression after traipsing through the woods all morning (he supposes that it is –he is feeling a tad bit peckish after all that activity).

“Excellent plan, love,” he tells her, “Granny’s?”

“I didn’t know you had a hankering for the meatloaf lunch special,” she teases him, with that lightness that she has only around him (at least, he’s only heard it around her).

“Perhaps that can be our rain check?” he asks hopefully, sure that he is using the word incorrectly but Emma just steps closer, reaches out to play with the collar of his jacket. She smells like cinnamon and something else, something clean and bright (soap, he thinks, whatever she uses in her hair) and the yearning inside of him grows. He watches as she licks her lips, tongue darting out as she glances up at him, smoothing the lapel of his coat against his chest.

“Are you sure you’re warm enough?” she asks, “we can get you something warmer – “

There is movement – someone crashing through the undergrowth, causing them to turn, expecting Elsa– and then, “Emma! Did you find her?”

Killian steps back, unable to stop from rolling his eyes. David is coming through the woods (apparently he followed them) and Killian steps back. Emma’s eyes are wide open, a look on her face he can’t read as she studies him, and he looks away.

That man has perfect timing.

In spite of the conversation he may have had with the prince in the Enchanted Forest, he has yet to talk to her father about the new development between himself and Emma (or lack thereof, because they spend their time together but not together, because kisses are few and far between, moments alone hard fought and rarely won).

Emma is already turning towards her father, and he’s not sure what to think except wonder, like he always does, when the opportunity for a stolen moment will once again present itself.

He can feel the old mask slipping into place before he even thinks twice about it. He angles his chin up and relaxes the muscles of his face, trying to feign boredom, disinterest. His thumb comes to rest on his belt buckle and he shifts his stance.

David has brought Hans with him, and Killian’s not sure why – the other man may claim to be Anna’s fiancé, but he hasn’t given them an ounce of help over the course of the past few days and Killian can’t help but find something…off…about the prince. David vouches for him, but Killian’s pretty sure he would vouch for the King of the Ogres if he thought that the creature was trying his best.

“She’s gone,” Emma admits, glancing at Killian strangely before turning to her father. “We’re going to head back into town.”

“But you say she came this way?” Hans asks, and Emma nods, and by the way that she’s staring at the prince, Killian can tell that she’s using (or at least attempting to use) her superpower. Hans turns to David, “do you mind if we look a bit more?”

Of course David agrees, and so the two of them head out through the woods, leaving Killian and Emma behind. Emma shakes her head before turning to Killian.

“What’s up with you?” she asks, and he frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“You get all, like, super pirate whenever David’s around,” she points out as they head back towards town. “You’re one way with me and then completely different around…pretty much everyone who is not me, or Henry.”

Killian scratches the back of his neck. It’s been so long since he was anything other than a pirate that he’s not really sure how to be anything else, or if he can be anything else (the mantle of a hero is a bit strange to wear, ill-fitting and uncomfortable, since he doesn’t see himself as such).

“Maybe you bring out the best in me,” he teases her, but it seems to elicit a reaction from her because she draws closer, and as they walk into town, her fingers search for his and when they find each other, they entwine. Her arm brushes against his, and they say nothing as they walk, but she drops his hand the minute one of the dwarves comes into views, shoves her hand into the pocket of her coat (it takes him by surprise how cold he feels without her).

“We should think about getting you something warmer to wear,” she tells him as they walk towards the diner, and he is far more aware of his demeanor than he was previously. He is careful of every movement of his body and every breath he takes, never more aware of the pirate he is and the man he might be now that Emma doesn’t want to be seen with him.

...

There wall at the corner of his bedroom is cracked, and he traces the jagged pieces with his eyes one night, wondering if he should say something to Granny (he decides against it lest she think that he’s the one that did it – he knows she’s of mixed feelings about him on a good day).

Instead, he stares at it, hands folded on his stomach, feet placed gently on the quilt that covers his small bed.  

There is a bag full of new clothing on the table in the corner on the opposite sides and he steadfastly refuses to look at it. Buying new clothes was Emma’s idea, not his, but he would do anything for her, including being subjected to having to try on multiple outfits in front of her and her lad, waiting for her approval (the small smile, the way that she tilted her head, the way that she brushed her hand against his, those little things made it mostly worthwhile).

He’s not sure how he feels about the fashions of this realm, but it’s not the clothes as much as it is the meaning behind them: if he wears this clothing, then he will fit in, become a part of this town. The enormity of this is not lost on him, and he thinks it would mean more to him if he actually felt like part of this town.

But he’s not, or at least not yet.

He doesn’t think he’ll feel like a part of this town until he has Emma’s love.

There is no small amount of frustration in his veins, because what he wants is more than heated kisses or even a desperate coupling (which hasn’t happened yet, but from the way that she looks at him when they stop kissing, it’s only a matter of time). He wants _time_ with Emma – pure, uninterrupted time where he can just hold her and listen to her. His arms ache for her and his head hurts when he thinks of all the nights he dreamed of her, a figment of his imagination, yet more real to him than the flesh and blood woman that left him at the stairs of Granny’s an hour ago.

Every attempt he has made to secure time with her has been interrupted, and every time he has reached out to her - to hold her hand, to touch her - she has moved away.   He wants Emma to want him, to want to be seen with him, to want to touch him in public like her mother does her father. She did, for a brief time, and he remembers every touch like a brand, throbbing and intense, burning itself into his memory. But now, she pulls back if he gets too close, her eyes looking at everyone around them but not him.

Perhaps she has finally realized that he is a pirate, and she is a princess.

That thought makes his heart ache.

He has done what he thought he could do: stayed by her side, supported her with her magic, believed her when she expressed concern. Now, he wonders if that is really enough, if his desire to possess her like the greedy pirate he is has finally become obvious, and he is a bit ashamed at his desperation. He has tried to be a better man but, like all attempts to save his soul, he is failing miserably at it.

He wonders if the crack is growing or if it’s just his desperate imagination. He’s imagined far worse: the sound of Liam’s voice, the phantom feeling of his left hand, the ghost of Milah next to him in bed, the brush of Emma’s hair against the sleeve of his coat.

A crack in the ceiling is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

…

“Did I upset you?” he asks one day. There is a lull in the action and she has enlisted him to help with some tasks in the sheriff’s station. Filing papers is dull work, but he gets to be with Emma, so he does not complain.

“What?” Emma frowns. “What do you mean?”

Killian taps the desk with his hook, suddenly sure he shouldn’t have started this conversation because there is absolutely nothing good that can come of it. He’s never been the type of man to ask for validation when it comes to women - he’s always received it unconditionally - but Emma is not just any woman, and he would like to correct any errors that he has made in regards to her before it is too late.

“Have I done something to offend you?” he asks, looking down at his hook, catching the reflection of the dull lights from overhead in the metal of his hook.

“Why would you say that?” He hears Emma shuffling papers on her desk, knows she doesn’t want to be having this conversation any more than he does.

“You have been...less forthcoming in your affection than in the past,” he admits, feeling foolish for voicing his concerns but if there is anything that he has learned about Emma, it is that honesty is the best policy, even if it is awkward to express. “I am concerned that I have done something to lower my esteem in your eyes.”

“You haven’t done anything,” she tells him, and when he looks up, there is a small smile on her face. “This whole Elsa thing is just distracting me.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again (Emma doesn’t need to know that he too can tell when she is lying).

...

“What are we doing?” she asks him as she hands him an icepack (the one he received after taking a rather violent fall, biting his lip in the process). Her movements are frantic, and he knows why: his fall was a result of Emma trying to stop Elsa with her magic, and it only resulted in _more_ ice, more snow, and his injury.

He remembers her screams as she frantically clutched as his new coat, and how he kept insisting that he was fine despite the blood that covered his hand when he reached up to touch his face. He’s been hurt far worse in his life (a fat lip for a few days is nothing), and so her anxiety is really for naught, but she still drags him into Granny’s parlor and finds a first aid kit.

“You’re tending to my injury,” he tells her, and she frowns.

“No, I meant – you and me,” she says, eyes focused on his split lip (it is not that bad, and he wonders why she fusses so). “What are _we_ doing?”

He swallows, because he has been wondering the same thing. For all the time that she is there with him, present in his moment, someone is always pulling her away from him, whether consciously or not. It is a frustrating realization, the knowledge that he cannot claim her for himself because she belongs to everyone else first (as well as the knowledge that he cannot let her go, no matter how hard he tries).

“What do you think we’re doing?” he asks, uncertain of her response.

“I don’t know,” Emma says with a sigh. “There, all better.” She steps back, but his voice stops her.

“Emma,” he says, and she looks up at him with sadness in her eyes that he recognizes and it worries him.

“You could have been hurt today,” she tells him, looking away.

He shifts his hand, draws her closer to him. “I’m fine,” he tries to tell her, making sure that there is utmost sincerity in his words, but she just shakes her head.

“I should probably get back to David,” she says (he recognizes this, saw this not that long ago, when she kept pushing him away, threatening to return to New York). His stomach clenches, and he waits, cautiously, before he speaks.

“You never answered your question,” he reminds her, and she takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly.

“Maybe there is no answer,” she says. “Maybe that’s the answer.”

Her words send a chill through him that is worse than any winter storm that Elsa has conjured in the past week, and he realizes that she is turning away, more than willing to leave him here alone.

“You won’t hurt me,” he tells her. “You won’t hurt me, just like you won’t hurt Henry or your family.” He pauses, ready to gamble on the truthfulness of his next statement. “You won’t hurt anyone you care about and try as you may, Emma, you do care about me.”

Her voice is a harsh whisper. “How do you know?”

“I trust you,” he tells her, standing up. She is rooted in place as he approaches, and he reaches for her but she steps back and away from him.

“I don’t trust myself,” she says, and the look on her face is so distant, so broken, that he wants to hold her, to comfort her, to make her remember that she will control her magic with practice. But she flees, leaving the room before he can say anything else, leaving him alone, hand still outstretched, reaching for her.

...

There is one dwarf who always seems to know exactly when trouble will happen, and when that dwarf comes running into the diner looking for Emma, Killian knows that something is wrong.

Emma is not eating with him today; he’s alone at the counter, sipping his coffee. They had been in the diner earlier, Emma and Henry, the young lad practically jumping up and down with the exciting task of finding a new residence.

“We’ll be back later,” Emma tells Killian, though he’s not entirely sure why, but he nods and looks back at his own plate, studying the eggs which appear to be a tad overcooked today.

Things have not been the same between them since his injury, and he has seen her rarely (she does not seek him out for kisses, does not look for his reassurance) and he knows that she is pulling away but has no insight as to why now other than it is in her nature to pull away, no matter how hard others try to weigh her down.

“Where’s Emma?” the dwarf asks Killian, who raises an eyebrow at the question.

“Why are you asking me?” he responds, and the dwarf huffs.

“Everyone in town knows you two are inseparable,” the dwarf explains with no small amount of contempt, and Killian opens his mouth, ready to say something, before the dwarf continues. “Anyway, something’s going down at the harbor and only Emma can stop it.”

Killian recalls that Emma and her lad were headed to the waterfront to look at apartments, so he nods at the dwarf. “I know where they are.”

They find Emma at the scene of the incident, cradling her father’s head in her hands. She sends Henry away immediately with the dwarf, but Killian remains when she shoots him a questioning glance. He crouches down beside her as they attempt to rouse the prince.

When he does wake, he tells them that it was Hans all along – Hans who sold Elsa to Rumpelstiltskin in exchange for a favor, Hans who is here looking for Elsa (he is also not Anna’s fiancé after all), Hans who hit the prince over the head with something hard.

Killian curses – he knew he felt something off with that man, knew he should have trusted his instincts and David wouldn’t have been hurt – and he apologizes for not speaking up sooner.

“Yeah, well, can’t do that when you’re staring at my daughter,” David says sharply, brushing dirt off his pants, and Killian opens his mouth, closes it, jaw working. He tries very hard to not be offended by the other man’s words – the Charmings have a way of oscillating between one emotional extreme and the other, and he takes a deep breath in through his nose, tries to calm his anger.

“I said I was sorry – “

“Yeah, well, ‘sorry’ doesn’t help us right now – we need to focus, come up with a plan,” David adds, glaring at Killian (he remembers a talk in the woods, the roar of the campfire and the words the other man spoke about respecting Killian’s loyalty and his love of Emma)and everything inside him threatens to come rushing out.

Only a small portion of it actually does.

“Well, mate, excuse me for doing the same as you,” Killian says, chin up, legs wide(he’s more aware of how he’s behaving now than ever, now that Emma’s pointed it out to him, now that he knows it’s just a remnant from his past). “You sneak off to your wife and babe whenever you can, leaving Emma and I to do most of the dirty work.”

“Killian – “ Emma’s voice floats between them but he ignores it, plows through, because the blood is high within him right now and he cannot – will not – be stopped.

“She’s my wife,” David responds, looking like Killian is out of his mind, which he very well may be. He shouldn’t be saying any of this – there will be no reaction that benefits him in the end - but he’s a broken man, lost in a new world, his only anchor a tenuous one.

“So I can’t spend time alone with the woman I love? We’re the ones to court danger at every turn? Quite the double standard, mate,” Killian points out, watching Emma step back at his words, her head down, shoulders hunched. He can practically see her assemble the masons, start to fix her fortifications, and he hates himself for putting her in this position where she feels she needs to defend herself, but he can’t stop. He does apologize, though, saying, “Emma, love, I’m sorry, I – “

“I don’t have time for love right now, not with everything going on” she tells him, eyes flicking up to meet his, and he feels his entire posture relax, shift (she makes him change in good ways, she makes him want to be good and worthy) and he shakes his head before she adds (once again) _the Savior never gets a day off._

“You don’t expect to find time for love, Emma,” he says softly, “you make time for it. You fight for it, and for what matters, even if that means ceding some control just to keep it at all costs.”

Emma looks at him, eyes wide, and he wonders if he’s lost her again (the distance between them isn’t that much but it feels like the space between realms).   Eventually, she just turns around, away from him and towards her father.

“David and I can handle Hans – I’ll see you later,” she calls over her shoulder.

Killian has been dismissed.

His stomach drops and it is suddenly so cold in this town, even in the new clothes that Emma has chosen for him (he misses his coat, his sword, his armor). He says nothing, just turns away from them both as he leaves.

His day stretches out in front of him like the open sea, but he cannot think of anything to do with it, cannot think of anything he would possibly want to do with himself that doesn’t involve Emma. Even if he was running through woods or streets with her chasing or being chased by monsters, he was still _with_ her and he was happy.

He does the one thing he knows how to do: he goes to the Rabbit Hole, and he buy himself a drink with the gold coins he’s carried from their realm, which are still accepted by both Granny and the proprietor of the bar, who know their true worth in the Enchanted Forest all too well.

The rum sits in the glass, dark and powerful, and he takes a sip, letting the liquor flow down his throat, down into his soul. He waits for the burn of the rum to ease his mind, distract him from Emma and his actions, but it doesn’t – not even a little, and he’s not sure that more will.   His fingers trace the etching of the tumbler, nail digging into the grooves, and he studies the reflection of the multi-colored lights above the bar. Light shines out from all angles, just like Emma’s light magic, and it’s the reminder not the alcohol that causes the familiar burn in his chest.

He heads to the bathroom. He catches his reflection in the mirror above the sink, takes himself in, observing the thick, dark sweater that Emma wanted him to wear to keep him warm, the shape of the charms he won’t get rid of still apparent underneath, between the sweater and the other shirt (he remembers a frantic moment, Emma’s hands dipping under his sweater as she kissed him, fingers tracing the fabric, the way that she told him how much she liked him in these new clothes - ).

The only thing he recognizes about the man in the mirror is the haunted look in his eyes. He’s worn that particular accessory for far too long and doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to part with it completely.

He braces his hand against the sink, takes a sharp breath inward. His chest feels tight, because it’s finally occurring to him that he’s made so much time for love – given up his ship, crossed realms, followed Emma wherever he could, fought for her in so many ways – and he’s starting to think it was all for naught. Emma will always be the Savior, the daughter of noble rulers, and there is a streak of selflessness within her that will always put the needs of others first (and he loves her for it, fiercely). But that woman – she doesn’t need him, not if she believes that love is a luxury, not a necessity.

He wishes he could tell her that she doesn’t have to, that she can trust him to stay by her side, to be with her, that she can fit love in somehow, and with him, but there’s a part of him that’s now wondering if Emma does want him. Her actions and words indicate one thing, but the timing is wrong and Killian starts to worry that maybe he’s just not enough for her.

And if that is the cruel truth that he must live with…well, he’s loved her for too long now to merely stop. He’ll just have to adjust his expectations, find a way to fit into Storybrooke that isn’t with her, even if he has no clue how to do that.

Killian wishes for Liam, or for anyone else who could give him advice right now.

He’s been thinking about Liam often lately, because he feels more than a bit lost and could use a steady hand to guide him, a kind word to ease his weary soul (he thinks of Emma, of how her father is probably trying to give her advice, to remind her that the selfless path is the better path for the good of their people). He has no one to utter sage words, to commiserate with him. He is entirely alone, his thoughts trapped inside his head.

He feels like he’s drowning.

He leaves the bathroom, returns to the bar, swallows the rum in one gulp before grabbing his coat and heading out into the cold. The wind whips across him as he steps out onto the pavement, and he buttons up his jacket, turns the collar up.

The walk back to Granny’s in the howling wind is the longest walk of his life.

…

The next morning, he wakes and steels himself for a day without her.

He avoids the diner, lingers in bed for far too long as he attempts to plot his course of action. The only solution he can come up with is to head to the library, where he has been once before with Henry and where he knows that no one will look for him.

Belle is already there when he arrives, and there’s a tense moment before he starts to browse the bookshelves (he does not expect to fully atone for the actions of his pirate life nor does he want to).

“Are you looking for something?” she asks him, and he nods. As she rounds the desk to approach him, she adds, “I thought you spent your days with Emma.”

“I need some time,” is his response, and she gives him a look that tells Killian she understands all too well.

“Sometimes distance is best,” she tells him. “It puts things in perspective.” She claps her hands together. “Let’s see what we can find you to read.”

They pull books from the shelves, but he rejects those about pirates and ships immediately (thinking about the _Jolly Roger_ means thinking about Emma and he is trying hard not to think of either today). He ends up reading a book about a child wizard, finishing the first and then the second in rapid succession, enraptured by the way that magic is something beautiful and hopeful in this book (he hopes that one day Emma will see her own magic as that, and that pang in his heart starts again).

It is only when his stomach growls loud enough for both him and Belle to hear that he decides to leave the library.

“Thank you,” he tells Belle on his way out, and she just smiles.

“I hope you find that perspective you’re looking for,” she says as he leaves, and he doesn’t respond because the honest truth is that he hasn’t found any perspective, not on anything, because everything reminds him of Emma and everything always will. She flows through his veins like his own blood, lingering in every bone in his body and every fiber of his being.

He heads towards Granny’s for food, but as he walks, he notices Emma and her vehicle waiting outside. She looks cold, hat slung low over hear head, arms crossed over her chest, and when she sees him she stands up straighter.

“Hey,” she calls out. “I was waiting for you.”

Killian slows down, her words catching him off guard. “Waiting?”

“Yeah – I know you eat here for lunch, so I thought I’d wait and catch you.” She looks at her watch. “It’s a little later than normal so the food’s a bit cold.”

He stops, frowns. “What food? Did Elsa freeze Granny’s?”

Emma starts to talk, gets flustered. “No – I – would you get in the car?” she asks, and the look on her face is both concerned and slightly afraid.

Killian nods, opening the passenger door to find some containers of food on the seat, wrapped in a plastic bag waiting for him. He lifts the bag, sits down, resting it on his knees. Emma pulls out into the street. She seems intent to take him somewhere, and even though they ride in silence, his attention is focused on her, tracing the lines of her face, before looking out the window, watching the storefronts rush by them.

Emma stops her vehicle in front of a large house by the waterfront. Silently, they get out together and he inhales a lungful of the salty air (even though the town smells like the sea, it’s stronger here, where he can hear the waves break against the hulls of the ships in the harbor, and it makes him _ache_ inside).

“This way,” she tells him, leading him into the house. They walk flight of stairs until they reach a door, where she pulls out key.

“This is my new home,” she tells him, swinging the door open and then stepping back, allowing him to walk around and take it in (the hardwood floors, the bedroom for herself and for her lad, the kitchen and washroom).   The windows look out over the harbor and the room is flooded with natural light. He can hear the cries of the gulls, sees the whitecaps break further out in the bay.

“It’s amazing, Swan,” he tells her, and she smiles.

“C’mon, I’ll show you something else,” she says, leading him back out into the hallway. There is a small door next to her own, and she opens it with yet another key. There is a flight of stairs, and at the top a room with windows on all sides, devoid of any furniture, but small enough for perhaps a bed and some other items. The view is even more fantastic than the one in Emma’s apartment down below.

“It’s for rent,” she tells him. “I was thinking you might want to live here.”

He turns to look at her, confused and uncertain by her words, but she smiles and takes the bag of food that he’s still holding from his hand and sits down in the middle of the floor.

“The landlord showed us this yesterday when Henry asked, and we thought it might be nice for you to be close,” she says, looking down at the bag so that she is intently untying. She removes the two boxes from inside, passing one towards him as he joins her on the floor, his head spinning with his new information.

“I’ll admit that I’m having a hard time following, as last I saw you, you were busy informing me that you no longer required my services,” he points out, and Emma doesn’t meet his eyes, just opens her own box and pulls out a fry.

“About that,” Emma says, shifting awkwardly.

“About that,” Killian repeats.

“So David and I talked,” Emma starts, and Killian sighs, because that is the last thing he wants to hear and of course it’s the first thing she says.

“And what did your noble father have to say about me?” he asks, and Emma laughs.

“Actually, it was more about me,” Emma remarks. She sighs. “He’s mad at me.”

“Whatever for?”

“For - this,” she says. “For not taking time for this.” She gestures between them, fry still between her fingers.

That’s a surprise to Killian, and he says as much, but Emma just shakes her head. “David knows that there’s something between us, but not what, because I haven’t exactly been open with my parents about my new relationship.” She takes a bite of the fry, chews and swallows before speaking again. “And he asked me why.”

“I’ll admit, I’m a bit curious too,” Killian replies without thinking, but he is curious – he needs to know why she has been acting the way she has with him, making him think that there is no place for him in her life, pushing him away whenever she wants.

“I don’t know why – or at least, I’m not sure I have a good reason. I think I’m just scared.” She looks down at her hands. “When you fell on the ice the other day, because of my magic – you didn’t get right back up and I have never been more frightened in my life, other than when Henry was dying in the hospital. And both of those times, it was because of me – because I didn’t believe Henry, because I thought I could take on the freaking snow queen.”

Killian is not sure what to say about her admission, so he just stares out the window in front of him, watching the gulls circle, thinking. This is not what he expected, and it’s taking him some time to process it, which is fine because Emma keeps talking.

“And it’s just…I can’t control my magic, I can’t control my life, how can I pretend to have a normal life when everyone thinks I’m going to save them all the time and I can’t even keep those I care about safe?”

Her words jerk him back to the present, and he shifts, looks at her. “You can’t,” he admits, because he worries about this constantly. “Take it from me, Emma – life happens and you can’t stop it. You just appreciate what you have in the meantime.”

Emma turns to look at him. “That’s what David said,” she tells him. “That you just live for the moments. That if he waited for everything to settle down around him, I wouldn’t be here. He said you have to keep fighting for what matters to you, and if moments matter, then you were right, and I needed to make time for them.”

Killian swallows, frightened of his next question. “And what matters, Emma?”

Her eyes meet his, and what he sees in them makes his heart race. “You matter,” she says. “I don’t know what we have, and but I know that it matters.”

“You don’t want to be seen with me,” he points out, and Emma looks at him, aghast. “You didn’t want to hold my hand in front of the others.”

“I didn’t want it to be real, because when something’s real then it can be taken from you.” Emma looks down at her hands, and when she looks back up there are tears in the corners of her eyes, and he can’t help but reach out, brush them away. She takes a shuddering breath. “But this is real, and I need to stop running from it. I need to just try.” She glances up at him from underneath her lashes. “You don’t run – from anything. Even when I kept pushing, you never ran away.”

“I like a challenge,” Killian admits, dropping his hand down. He does – and he’s enjoyed most of the challenge that has been Emma, but that’s because he loves her, and love means sticking through the good and the bad.

“You gave up everything for me, and that’s…more than I give you, I know.” She traces the grain of the wood floor with the tip of her finger. “I’m scared. Not of you, but of what’s inside of me. Watching Elsa and her magic – “

“You’ll get your magic under control,” he reassures her. “You will, Emma, I know you will, and I’ll be here to see it happen.”

When Emma’s eyes meet his, he can see something in their depths that makes him feel like maybe he is enough for her just as he is.

“I can’t believe it was Hans all along,” Emma admits, changing the conversation and breaking the tension but he doesn’t mind it, not when he knows that she wants him here with her. She reaches for her burger, taking a bite, and Killian finally opens his box.

“He did seem a tad _too_ distraught over the loss of his lass,” Killian points out, and Emma makes a face.

“You mean to tell me you wouldn’t be a wreck if I went missing?” she asks, and Killian shakes his head.

“Are you my lass, then?” he asks her, and she tilts her head to the side, studies him over the top of her burger.

“Unless you’ve got some other lass on the side,” she tells him, and he shakes his head.

“I would tear this town apart if harm came to you,” he promises her. “I wouldn’t just go complain to the sheriff that my love was missing. I would find you.” He bites into a fry of his own, chewing and watching her reaction as the words sink in. Her breath catches and she opens her mouth, smile playing on her corner of her lips.

“You already did once,” she points out, and he merely raises an eyebrow.

“I’d do it all over again, time after time,” he tells her, and he means it. He would go to the ends of the world or time for her, give up his ship multiple times, do whatever it takes.

“Say it again,” Emma demands, and he smiles as well.

“Say what? That I would find you?” he replies, but she shakes her head and before he knows it, she is climbing across their food and into his lap, fingers touching his face, forehead resting against his own.

“Say that you love me,” she whispers, and Killian smiles wide as happiness thrums through him.

“I love you, and I would find you, over and over again,” he repeats. Emma’s response is to lean forward and kiss him, and while it is not an outright declaration of anything, it is the reassurance that he needs, the subtle movement of her lips against his a reminder that he can be a person worthy of being loved.


End file.
